


Hired Gun

by Aisu



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 22:40:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7988749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisu/pseuds/Aisu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanzo Shimada, still working to dismantle what's left of the Shimada family, finds himself with the need to finally accept help. Luckily, there's a new mercenary in town, who's surprisingly willing to help. But especially when unexpected common ties come back into their life, will their professional relationship survive - or even stay professional?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hired Gun

**Author's Note:**

> Your Broken Crown's still going, but 'Jesse and Hanzo during the days they were on the wrong side of the law working together' popped into my head and refused to go away. I'm not anticipating this exceeding 5 chapters or so. Hope you enjoy!

The rumor spreads through the underworld quickly enough - murmured to one another in dingy bars, discussed during back alley deals. There's a new hired gun in town. American, in the worst ways ("Dresses like a cowboy," a man says to another, laughing), but with a quick trigger and good aim. Picky about his jobs, but worth hiring if you can get him.

Hanzo sits by the bar in some broken-down izakaya (a front, probably, but not for the Shimada and that's what counts) and sips his sake as he listens to yet another discussion of the man. He's starting to get tired of it, if he's being honest with himself. The man's far from the only American working with the Japanese underworld.

Can someone's attire really be that fascinating?

And then the door opens, and the man steps in.

Well. Hanzo can't say that the descriptions were inaccurate. The man's dressed in some terrible combination of what looks like actually useful armor and what looks like it was stolen from the set of an American movie. There's a hat heavily involved in the proceedings, and a rugged beard.

Hanzo doesn't even want to consider the belt buckle.

The man settles at the bar, setting his arms on the counter. One gleams in the dim light, and Hanzo studies the prosthetic with a bit of interest. Higher grade than he'd expect someone this scruffy to have - there are scratches and dings, and the design is tacky, but even from a distance he can see the care in the workings. Expensive, not like the hack jobs on most people of the man's ilk.

"Whiskey," the man drawls, looking at the server with a grin. His posture's relaxed, legs spread a bit on the stool, arms still folded in front of him. He looks, in a word, defenseless. Too open.

Something is interesting here. An American, dressed as a cowboy, acting like a fool - and yet he has an arm that points to past combat and to plenty of funds, and he hasn't died despite walking into Yakuza-run dens of crime as if they were his own home. There's an incongruity.

Despite himself, Hanzo is intrigued.

"[I'll pay,]" he says to the server, and the man turns to look at him, beaming like a puppy. God, how is he not dead yet? "[Edamame for us both as well.]"

"[Thank you,]" the man says, shifting stools closer to Hanzo. "[Kind of you.]" His Japanese isn't terrible, but his accent is atrocious, full of drawl and wrongful extensions.

Hanzo shrugs, sipping again. He switches to English. "Consider it payment for conversation. I am... curious about your presence in Hanamura."

"Y'could say I'm tourin' the world. Ended up here." The man shrugs. "Was half-lookin' for an old friend, but seems he's moved on. Can't blame him none for that."

Hanzo raises an eyebrow at that, but decides not to question. "You've caught attention, you are aware. Every back-alley thug is talking about the American cowboy, and not only because of your attire."

"Sweet of them to notice me," the man says, his grin lopsided. "But I ain't nothin' special. Just lookin' for some work while I get ready to travel on."

"Hmn." Hanzo considers, for a few moments. He usually works alone, when he can. It's simpler that way, easier. But there have been a few too many close calls lately. Times he's found himself pinned down. He still knows he's better than any ten of their men, but the fact is that sometimes they send eleven.

He is not against dying in combat, of course, if that is what his work takes. But he would rather not die stupidly, simply because he was outmanned.

And, if he is being honest, he is still curious about the man.

"There is a deal happening a few days from now that will benefit a family I have... disagreements with," Hanzo says, choosing his words carefully. Not much danger of being attacked for mentioning the Shimada here, or he wouldn't be coming here, but the man could still be one of their agents.

Although even the remnants of the Shimada clan usually would have more taste than this.

The man nods, slowly. "Reckon I could help with that. We'll work out the details somewhere else a little more private." The server comes by with a bottle of whiskey and the dish of edamame, and he nods them a thanks before looking back at Hanzo. "You got a name?"

"Kurosawa Hanzo." Giving his first name is foolish, maybe, but if the man has an ounce of perception he'll figure things out on the job. Hanzo can only hide so well even with pseudonyms - there are too many giveaways.

As for the last name, well. He likes the sound of it.

(Ignore the memories, the laughing voice - "[Still dressing like you're in a Kurosawa flick? I think dad will allow pants, you know--]")

(Cut off the memory. Drink the rest of his sake.)

The man nods, slowly. "Y'can call me James, Kurosawa-san," he says, and grins like he's laughing at his own private joke. A pseudonym too, then. That's fine. Shows the man - James - has at least an ounce of sense.

Hanzo was starting to doubt it.

He drops his voice a bit, scanning the izakaya patrons again. Nobody's visibly paying attention. They have the courtesy to not interfere with business. "There is an arcade, a few blocks from here. I will rent us a private room. Do not worry about blending in - they have seen stranger Americans." He shrugs, not sure if James would have bothered blending in anyways. "We'll discuss the details there."

"Sounds like a plan," James says, and lifts his glass. "Cheers."

Hanzo stares for a few long moments, then lifts his glass wordlessly, and James beams.

\---

The arcade is a dull roar below, chimes and pings and music blurring into a seamless whole. It would be irritating even if being here didn't involve a surge of memories, but Hanzo appreciates the low-level discomfort. It keeps him alert.

James seems content, sipping some terrible soda as they discuss finances (easy enough - Hanzo still has enough funds stored away for most things, and James is agreeable even to a fairly lowball offer) and the basics of the job. He looks incongruous against the sleek modern walls and curved chairs, an anachronistic figure. Another jarring feature setting Hanzo on edge.

"The Shimada will meet here," Hanzo says, gesturing to the map at the table between them. "It's an old warehouse. Easy enough to get into and out of, and the other families won't use it even now."

"Shimada?" James tilts his head, grinning wryly. "Hell, haven't heard that name in a while. Thought they went bust."

"The core of the family is gone," Hanzo says, choosing his words carefully. "But there are remnants left. Underlings playing at leading. For the most part they simply squabble among themselves." He looks up at James. "Have you encountered them before?"

"Yeah. The friend I talked about and I took out a few of their operations, back in the day." James shrugs. "They seemed like a mess even back then. Surprised they're holding on."

"Cockroaches are tenacious," Hanzo says, considering James' words. It's a surprise, of course, but not a huge one - he'd been well aware in the first few years after

(Genji)

he left that some other organization was also helping to dismantle the failing clan. He'd never encountered any directly, but he'd heard and seen enough. At the time, he'd just taken it for another family playing opportunist, but now he wonders.

The Shimada family, in its height, had caused international concern - of that he's sure. And in the last few years before the end, he'd caught glimpses, here and there, of orange and gray.

He thinks he may be beginning to piece James together.

Still, he says nothing more about it, just looking back to the map. "This is a major trade, if my information is correct, so they'll send more than an honor guard. Hence your presence. I'll be handling things from the higher reaches - they never have the windows protected enough - and I'll need you to keep them away."

James nods. "Can do. I have flashbangs for distractin', as a heads up, so if you hear me yell turn off the scope."

Hanzo allows himself a smirk. "I do not use a scope."

James looks at him, raising an eyebrow. "Hell of a trick, but since you ain't dead yet, I'm gonna just go with you. Still. Close your eyes. Flashbangs are damn bright, trust me on that."

"Understood." Hanzo straightens. "Three nights from now, then."

"Aw, ain't you even goin' to buy me dinner?" James says, grinning.

Hanzo turns, glares.

"Kiddin', kiddin'!" James raises his hands defensively. "Jus' a joke! Three nights, right around 1900, got it."

Hanzo rolls his eyes, turns away.

He tries to push aside the traitor thought that crosses his mind, the thought that's been recurring more and more often throughout the conversation with James.

The man's beard is a mess and his fashion sense is worse, but the face is undeniably handsome in a rugged sort of way. He's affable, friendly, even if it comes off as idiotic naivete half the time.

Would it really be that bad to take him out for dinner?

He pushes it aside. There's no time for pleasure. No room. He has his mission and he has his honor and anything else will wait.

Still, he swears he can feel James' eyes on his back as he walks out into the chaos and din of the arcade.

\---

They meet in an alley a bit away from the warehouse to go over the plans one last time. Hanzo's dressed for combat, and he knows that James is looking at him, at the curves of the tattoo over his chest and arm, but he doesn't care. The chances are high that the man doesn't know what they mean.

It's possible, too, that James is just staring at his chest. He wouldn't be the first.

He stares back until Jesse looks up at him, then speaks. "You understand the plan?"

James nods. "You snipe at them." A brief glance at Hanzo's bow, looking curious. "I keep 'em on the ground, handle anyone tryin' to bother you. We keep goin' until they're all down or gone. No worryin' about survivors?"

Hanzo shrugs. "They know my face already. There is nobody they would report to who would be a major threat. If it concerns you, I will give you a list of the businesses that you perhaps will have to avoid after this."

"Might be nice. I appreciate a heads up when I'm walkin' into a firefight." Jesse shrugs, heading for the end of the alley. "See you soon, Kurosawa-san."

Hanzo watches him go for a moment (spurs jingling, serape flowing - how does the man ever manage stealth, he wonders), then scrambles up the side of the nearest building easily. His artificial feet find the footholds almost without his help, and soon enough he's at the top.

The moon is clear overhead as he begins his run. He can pick out a handful of stars against the sky, glittering. Part of him thinks about visibility and the need to correct his route to allow for more concealment, but he lets himself, for a moment, just look at the moon.

Then he gets to the edge of the roof he's on and focuses again. The jump isn't too long, but still he has to catch himself on the edge of the ledge and pull himself up.

When he finishes situating himself, he's on a long ledge in front of a horizontal window. It's a narrow view, but he manages to adjust to look through it, scanning the warehouse floor. There are a handful of men and Omnics down there in neat black suits, but less than he expected, and all of them...

His blood chills.

All of them are looking up, at the windows. And as he watches, one fixes his aim at him.

He was expected.

There's not time to get his bow out, now, but he reaches all the same - only to hear a click from above him. Slowly he looks up to see another man, wearing dark sunglasses despite the night and smirking broadly as he points his pistol down at Hanzo. His stance is unsteady, his aim shaking, but it doesn't matter. There's only a few feet between the ledge and the roof. The man doesn't have to aim well to hit.

"[Looks like my trap caught the right prey,]" the man says, smug. "[Enjoying yourself up here?]"

"[Except for the company, yes,]" Hanzo replies, keeping his voice as even as he can. Keep panic at bay. Focus on what he can do. The window's too small to fit through, and even if he managed the underlings are waiting below. He could descend the side, but any descent that wouldn't break his legs would give the man plenty of time to aim and fire. He doesn't have the time he needs to ready his bow and fire an arrow, especially at this range.

"[Don't be that way, boss,]" the man replies, sneering the last word. "[We don't even have to kill you, if you play nice. Just give up and surrender and we can talk.]"

Hanzo opens his mouth to reply with some scathing, defiant thing - then pauses. There's a shape barely visible against the night sky, moving closer across the roof.

He can just barely hear the jingle of metal.

"[What, exactly, would we talk about?]" he says at last.

"[The family, of course. You abandoned leadership, but there's still a place for you as an adviser. We'd be generous--]"

But the shot rings out before he can finish his sentence, and he topples off the side of the roof, looking almost startled in the moment before he disappears.

Before the men below can realize what's happened, Hanzo's scrambling onto the roof, getting his bow out. They won't have long.

"Hope you'll forgive me for not stickin' with the plan," James says, sounding as comfortable as ever. "Saw the way they were lookin' and figured up might need a bit more coverage."

"You can flatter yourself for your decisions after we're done," Hanzo growls. No time for gratitude, not with a dozen men under their feet wanting to kill them. "Can you jump?"

"Well, I never played basketball or nothin', but--"

"Good."

He runs for the edge and leaps, not looking behind him, and is gratified when he hears someone land just a few moments after. The cowboy can keep up.

"If we get into the city proper again, we'll be fine," Hanzo says as he runs. No time for wall descents, so he starts scanning for fire escapes. "We can lose them there. I know it better."

"Gotcha." James is keeping pace, matching the short jumps between rooftops. "By the way, darlin'?"

"Don't call me--"

"Eyes closed."

Hanzo shuts his eyes, tight, and a near-deafening bang resounds somewhere below, light playing across his closed eyelids. When he opens his eyes again, his ears are still ringing, but he manages to keep his balance.

"Impressive," he says simply.

"Had a sniper in the buildin' next door," James replies, and this time Hanzo forgives him for sounding self-satisfied.

Finally, Hanzo finds a fire escape, ducking onto it, starting down the stairs. Somewhere on the street below, he feels almost more than he sees a shape, and he fires without breaking stride. The cry that follows confirms his instincts. Not a killing blow, he thinks, not from the sound, but it should do.

On the ground, the warehouses and empty buildings of Hanamura's dying industrial district become a maze. Hanzo weaves between concrete walls with the ease of practice, and James keeps pace step for step. There are footsteps behind them, but as they keep weaving and turning the noise becomes more scattered, more distant. They're making progress.

The city lights are clearer, closer. Finally, the warehouses start to give way to shabby shops and half-derelict buildings, streetlights shining in flickering patterns high above.

One man emerges after them, pistol aimed, and Hanzo turns almost without slowing and fires. Shoulder, this time - the man shifts at the last minute. But still he drops his gun and staggers back, and it's all the chance Hanzo needs to push on.

James gives him a brief, approving nod. Hanzo just looks ahead.

They run a little further until they're sure that there are no more footsteps, then slow. They take a few more blind turns, weave a bit more through the small district, but finally it becomes clear that they've lost the men successfully.

Hanzo slides on his wafuku fully over his tattoos, attaching his bow back to his back. He's still clearly not just out to shop, but he doubts anyone around here will be asking too many questions, if any of the stores still have people in them at all. "You did well. Tomorrow, around noon, meet at the arcade again and I'll pay you."

And it's true. James did his job more than admirably. The rumors about him don't seem to have been exaggerated.

James nods, next to him. "Sounds like a plan to me." He stretches. "Might have a few questions, then, too, but right now I'm damn tired."

Hanzo sighs. He supposes that it was too much to hope that James might have not overheard the conversation. "Go, rest."

"Right." James starts down the half-dark street, giving a lazy wave. "See you tomorrow, Kurosawa-san." Too much drawl on the name. Too much exaggeration.

Hanzo watches him go, a bit regretful. He doesn't regret the hiring - James has saved his life now, after all. That was worth it. But, still.

He had begun to hope that maybe James was simply that oblivious.

With one last heavy sigh, he begins the long walk back to his hotel.


End file.
